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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24029926">my heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue, (all's well that ends well to end up with you)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderandthyme/pseuds/lavenderandthyme'>lavenderandthyme</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ballet, Brooklyn, Dancer Natasha Romanov, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Multi, OT3, Red Room (Marvel), Russia, The One Where No One Dies, in which the author takes serious liberties, slight underage warning but not really</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 01:48:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,178</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24029926</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderandthyme/pseuds/lavenderandthyme</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Well,” she said, turning the paper over to trace the caption on the back before passing it back to James over her shoulder, “Looks like we’re taking a trip to Monaco,” </p><p>“Wonderful,” James said flatly, looking at the photo of her standing on the beach, hair bright against the sand and large sloping white buildings behind her. The looping handwriting on the back dated the image as 1937. “Are you wearing a spotty bikini?”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>64</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>my heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue, (all's well that ends well to end up with you)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hello!</p><p>I started this last September, I believe, but somehow didn't pick it up again until this past week and it has grown into this monster.</p><p>While not directly inspired by it, this works seemed to have indirectly picked up similar vibes as irnan's 'not the most honest means of travel' - be sure to check that out, a much more enjoyable experience than this I'm sure.</p><p>Title comes from Lover by Taylor Swift.</p><p>I hope you're all remaining safe and weel in quarantine - enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><b> <em>October 30th, 1947, Moscow, Izvestia daily newspaper, Obituaries.</em> </b> </p><p><em> Known as potentially the greatest dancer the Bolshoi Ballet Company had ever seen, Nadya Ivanovna Rozhkov has been confirmed as one of the casualties caught in the bombing of the Bolshoi Opera Theatre last week. At 20, she was the youngest principal dancer the company had ever seen and was often commended greatly for her immense skill. Working her way through the ranks at an unbelievable pace, the young starlet was set for a long and prosperous career in the company. She was tragically orphaned at a young age and leaves behind no family but her fellow dancers, who have been given the month off to grieve while renovations on the damage begin. </em> </p><p><em> Amongst the other victims was choreographer, Iakov Alexeyevich Baranovsky, often credited for Rozhkov’s discovery and subsequent launching into the ballet world. Rumours of a scandalous affair circulated the pair frequently, however, said rumours were never officially confirmed. </em> </p><p><em> Memorials for both can be found in the square outside the theatre in Moskva. </em> </p><p><em> * </em> </p><p><em> “What makes you happy, Natashenka?” </em> </p><p><em> “Dancing, I’ve always loved to dance, Soldat.” </em> </p><p><em> * </em> </p><p>Natalya is six when tetya finally let her start lessons at her special training academy. Her mother tells her that tetya is going to make her the best prima ballerina there ever was, but there had been tears pooling in the woman’s eyes when she dropped her off at Moscow train station. Natalya hadn’t felt sad to be leaving her mother, or Moscow. In fact, she’d felt excited more than anything, she was wearing her best coat - emerald green to match her eyes - and carried with her only a pair of unused pointe shoes. They’d been bought for her by tetya the day she was born, and the colour was faded slightly with age.  </p><p>“Remember to write, Natka, every week, yes?” </p><p>“<em>Da, mama,” </em> </p><p>Her mother waved at her through the train window, her lips – painted the same bright red as they always were - spread into a smile that Natalya knew was forced. Her face became blurred by the distance and the raindrops distorting the windowpane, and Natalya could feel her slipping from her mind almost immediately. She knew then, somehow, that she would not write, and she would not see her mother again. </p><p>The station was busy, much busier than usual, but Natalya waved until the crowd swallowed her mother from view, and the frosted countryside blurred outside the train window. At some point, the rain thickened to snow, and it didn’t stop for fourteen years. </p><p>* </p><p><em> 16, 17, 18 – </em> </p><p><em> she is spinning and her shoes are almost dead and she can feel the toenail on her big toe cracking and – </em> </p><p><em> 23, 24, 25 – </em> </p><p><em> Tetya is watching from the wings and she can feel her ankle straining – on the left like always and – </em> </p><p><em> 29, 30, 31 – </em> </p><p><em> and – </em> </p><p><em> - she is falling. </em> </p><p><em> She is falling, down through the stage, down past the ground, down, down, down, and – </em> </p><p>She is awake. She is awake, and she is alive, and she is in control. </p><p><em> I am in control. </em> </p><p>She never makes it to 32 fouettés before she wakes. </p><p> </p><p>* </p><p>Natasha can’t remember the first time she was wiped, for obvious reasons, but she estimated it happened when she was ten, maybe eleven. </p><p>She found that the more time and distance passed, the more flashes came back to her - mostly in dreams. They were always extremely vivid and bright - like she was watching through a technicolour-tinted snow globe - and it was always the red that caught the most. Drops of blood on fresh snow, red lipstick smeared across her right cheek, red pointe shoes, and red stars backed by cold silver. She doesn’t know where all the flashes placed in her life, not even when she gets to America. It’s all just that, flashes, muscle memory – like ballet. </p><p> </p><p>* </p><p><em> Her costume was beautiful. More beautiful than she deserved, surely, at just nineteen. She ran her finger over the crimson material once more, fingertips catching on the sequins, before turning away. Her hand dropped from the dress. </em> </p><p><em> “I couldn’t possibly accept this, sir, it’s too much – far too much” </em> </p><p><em> Baronovsky’s mouth twitched, and he beckoned to her, amused, with his right hand. His left, gloved as always, convulsed at his side. She moved to him immediately. There was a gun in his left-hand pocket, as always, and she knew there were four knives holstered to his chest, at least, not to mention the combat knife in his right boot. </em> </p><p><em> “We couldn’t have my starlet in any old costume, hmm?” he cupped her chin and rested his thumb on her lips, painted scarlet, unintentionally the same colour as the costume, “For me, zvyozdochka - will you wear it for me?” </em> </p><p><em> He whispered the last part so quiet she hardly caught it, but she nodded, eyelashes fluttering and cheeks warming. She took a step back with a shiver when she heard approaching voices in the corridor, turned back towards the dress, his thumb dropped. </em> </p><p><em> Before she turned, she catches Baronovsky bring his thumb, stained slightly red, to his own mouth and suck of the pigment. His ice-cold eyes watched her intently. She shivered and noticed– not for the first time – how incredibly handsome he was. </em> </p><p> </p><p>* </p><p>The first time Steve rang to ask if she wanted to go to the ballet with him, she had laughed harshly. </p><p>“He set you up to this didn’t he?” </p><p>There was a pause, a sigh, he sounded worn thin. She let her anger drop a notch or two from seething, reading Steve had always been as easy as reading a child’s book, and tonight was not the night to push. </p><p>“No,” he said finally, tone verging on irritable. </p><p>“That’s a yes, then,” she snapped back instantly, an odd feeling settling in her stomach. Barnes was dancing around her as if he was afraid, which was ridiculous, and she had gotten bored of playing along. </p><p>“Why are you making it out to be a bad thing, Nat? He cares about you, he’s just – It’s, - things are a little complicated, at the moment,”  </p><p>She narrowed her eyes. The thing was, she knew he had a completely valid point. Barnes was volatile, hardly had any control over himself or his actions – but then again, he had been dancing around them since the bridge, always two steps ahead, but leading them along the same path.  </p><p>“Fine,” she sighed, the pit of her stomach cautiously fizzing with excitement, like it didn’t want her brain to catch up and ruin the fun, “Pick me up at 8, then.” </p><p>“Yes ma’am.”  </p><p>She doesn’t smile where she would’ve been inclined to once, unconsciously her hand drifted to her neck, suddenly cold, as if touched by metal. She shook her head, forcing her hand back down to her side. <em> Super soldiers are a dangerous playing field, Natalya, you’ve been here before. </em> </p><p>Picked her up at 8 he did, looking dashing in a suit, tie a deep ruby and bouquet of startling red roses in his left hand. He handed them to her, and on the side closest to her sat a small notecard with a solitary <em> J </em> in the middle in a familiar scrawl. She smiled stiffly at Steve’s apprehensive look. </p><p>“Wipe that nervous look off your face, Rogers,” </p><p>He tried his very best, bless him. </p><p>“They were waiting outside my door, no sign of him,” he had this habit of always looking at her as if she was china on the edge of a shelf, and she despised it, it was a nasty habit that try as she might, proved unbreakable.  </p><p>She placed the roses on the kitchen sideboard, giving in to the temptation to softly pinch a petal between her fingers for a moment before she turned back to Steve, the same god-awful frightened-puppy-look on his face.  </p><p><em> - </em> </p><p>The ballet was beautiful, and if Steve noticed her shallow breaths, he only squeezed her hand tighter and pulled it further into his lap. </p><p>“I would’ve loved to have seen you dance on stage,” he says quietly when they were back outside her doorway, tucking a stray cooper curl behind her ear, the back of his hand bushing her cheekbone, “- he says you were like starlight.” </p><p>She feels guilty about it afterward, kissing him, but only because it felt like cheating somehow – and also because she’d promised to tell him the truth, and that felt like distinctly covering it up. </p><p> </p><p>* </p><p>It was about 3 months after S.H.I.E.L.D had fallen when she finally remembered seeing him for the first time, and all she could think while staring at the dappled cream of the wall was the fierce urge she had to tell Steve. </p><p>It shocked her, the way the thought drifted so brazenly across her mind. When had that happened, then?  </p><p>She didn’t bother to try and answer that, and mentally challenged anyone to meet Steve Rogers – and his best friend for that matter – and not become doe-eyed within the week. Natasha, of course, didn’t do doe-eyed – but wanting to tell him things, trusting him with her past – she thought that was as good as.</p><p>She pushed away from the lingering images of vivid silver against purpling skin with a shiver and decided it was time to return to Russia, time to stop running. </p><p> </p><p>* </p><p><em> She was seventeen when she killed a man for the first time. Properly killed one, by herself, not just for training. He was a politician of some sort, some foreign minister with sallow looking skin that was always the wrong side of shiny and a penchant for scotch on the rocks. </em> </p><p><em> She’d just finished the second act of Giselle and was still in her Wili costume, her face covered by the veil. </em> </p><p><em> She'd let the music carry her through the dance, feeling her unsuspecting victims’ eyes as they took in her body greedily. There was a knife holstered to her thigh, the way it was placed meant it dug into the taught skin of her thigh every time she extended into arabesque. It was no mistake, the sharp point of pain kept her grounded, kept her mind sharp and on task. Tetya’s eyes were on her like a hawk and when the music swelled to its climax their eyes met, Tetya gave her a tiny nod, unnoticeable to those around her but Natalya had to swallow down a shiver. She glided off the stage into the wings and walked calmly towards the entrance of the auditorium, the chatters of the Bolshoi corps swirling over her head. </em> </p><p><em> She entered the box still in her point shoes, they were almost dead, she’d have to get a new pair sewn up for tomorrow’s matinee. </em> </p><p><em> Baronovsky was the only other person there, he laughed richly at something the minister had said and sipped at neat vodka. There was a gun in his jacket’s left pocket, the outline of it almost invisible under the shadowy light. Natalya felt the knife dig into her leg a little sharper as she brushed past him, his fingertips skimmed at her tutu but his face was otherwise unreadable. She almost shivered again, but dropped her gaze and plastered on that innocent look these kinds of men seemed to adore from her. </em> </p><p><em> Her target was about mid-50s, perhaps a little younger, overweight, and had 3 children, girls – the eldest her age. She didn’t know why that had stuck in her mind the way it did, but it left her with a sour taste in the back of her mouth when she lingered on it too long. Kuznetsov, that was his name, cleared his throat and downed his drink, his grin turning lecherous as she placed herself in front of him, blocking the stage from view. </em> </p><p><em> Baronovsky moved to go and refill the man’s drink </em> , <em> an unspoken warning passing from his eyes as his glance flicked down to the stalls, where she knew Tetya was sitting with Karpov. She watched him as he retreated and took a breath, her hands lifted the veil off her face automatically. She made sure to project an air of nervousness; she’d found it was easier to catch them off guard when they’d already placed her as naive. </em> </p><p><em> “So, you’re the Bolshoi's new little starlet then, hm?” his voice was rough from tobacco, and his hands played absentmindedly with the ends of her skirt, tugging it down a little only to lift it up higher. It made her want to retch, she didn’t, “- pretty little thing, aren’t you?” </em> </p><p><em> The violins exploded behind them as his hand trailed higher, fingers cold from the ice in his glass. She nodded softly – he'd paid for innocence, after all. When she pulled the knife out from the holster at her thigh and slit his throat, she thought of his children, and somehow couldn’t find it in herself to feel guilty. </em> </p><p><em> She was leaving as Baronovsky returned, he watched her for a second, something flashing in his eyes as she tugged the veil back over her eyes. His gaze settled on the dead man in the chair, and she felt something flutter within her when he nodded at her approvingly, his expression still unreadable. He gave his glass willingly when she gestured out, and the vodka burned down her throat and promptly numbed out any flutters in her stomach. </em> </p><p><em> She began to walk back towards the stage when his voice halted her in her tracks, it was gruffer than usual, and his vowels were stretched in an odd way she’d never noticed before. </em> </p><p><em> “How do you feel?” </em> </p><p><em> When she turned back to face him, he was studying the stain of her lipstick on the glass. He cleared his throat and met her gaze, waiting for her answer, his left-hand clenched under its glove. She thought for a moment, let her eyes wander to the body and his fat, sausage-like fingers and the cold residue they had left on her thigh. She met Baronovsky’s eyes again, and something deep within her said Soldat, he’s a soldier, but she pushed it away and drew in a breath to answer him. </em> </p><p><em> “Alive.” </em> </p><p>* </p><p>When she got to S.H.I.E.L.D, people seemed to assume she came out of the womb killing, when in fact she’d always thought of herself as a dancer first, not an assassin. Plausible deniability, she supposed. Still, in her mind she wasn’t a spider but the black swan, dangerously beautiful and utterly perfect.  </p><p> </p><p>* </p><p>She saw him once between The Triskelion and Berlin, in St. Petersburg of all places.  </p><p>She was standing in front of the Mariinsky theatre, her hair in a low bun and her coat a pale mint green, not unlike the colour of the building in front of her.  </p><p>He sidled up to her, his hair in a low bun of its own, holding out a takeaway cup with a neutral expression. She took the cup without a word, startling when she tasted hazelnut blooming across her tongue. It was too lucky to be a guess; however, she had no recollection of mentioning anything about it to him before - but then again - that meant nothing really in the grand scheme of things. </p><p>"Always preferred the Bolshoi myself, not so much green,” </p><p>The bastard was teasing her, smirk said as much. She didn’t smile, had half a mind to throw her coffee on him, but thought better of it. He was still the world's deadliest assassin, besides herself, smirk or otherwise. Besides, she took it as a good sign, that he was in the frame of mind to tease. </p><p>“How much do you remember?” she asked, eyes scouring for any change in expression, any crack in the façade. She shocked herself when she realised she’d spoken in Russian, she hadn’t meant to, but instinct had taken over. He didn’t seem to notice himself, his accent had that same odd stretched quality to it, stilted. </p><p>“Enough, for now,” his left hand, un-gloved, twitched at his side. He switched back to English as easy as the tide, “- What about you?” </p><p>She snorted, catching the way the corners of his eyes softened as if he’d expected her to be a china doll, static and cold. Steve, she thought, looked at her the same way.</p><p>“Not nearly enough,” </p><p>A silence fell, a million questions hung in the careful balance of the space between them. It was obvious that they were looking for ghosts of the people in front of them. Natasha felt for the first time in weeks a sense of change in the air, like her life was on a set of train tracks and the course was about to be altered, it didn’t scare her as much as it probably should have. </p><p>“What brings you back to Russia, vdova,” </p><p>He asked the question as if he already knew the answer, or didn’t care, only curious to hear what she said, so he could place where they stood with each other. </p><p>“I could ask you the same question,” she swallowed a mouthful of her drink, still scalding against her throat, “Soldat,” </p><p>His mouth quirked, he turned to look at her, eyes tracking her hair. </p><p>“Are you going to tell Steve?” </p><p>Natasha didn’t say anything, but he took one look at her face and chuckled, mumbling “Christ, you too?” as she sipped her drink with a frown, still watching him carefully.  </p><p>“You put him up to it,” she said, snappish. </p><p>He raised his hand, palm up, “If anything I gave him the final push, even under mind control I caught on to his pining puppy-dog eyes,” he dropped his hand, “You’re not so subtle yourself you know if you know where to look,” </p><p>“And you do, know where to look,” </p><p>His head quirked to the side, eyes challenging, borderline flirtatious. </p><p>“I did, at one point in time,” </p><p>She sniffed, turning away to look in front of her. </p><p>He looked tired, but not as gaunt as she’d remembered him being at certain points in her memory, his eyes were clearer, for a start. Blue as the sky above them. She shivered, and pulled her coat around her tighter. He sighed, shaking his head at something before continuing. </p><p>“Look,” she stiffened minutely, whatever this was, it wasn’t likely to be good, “Steve’s hearts in the right place, but he’s the dumbest son-of-a-bitch I ever met, and there’s no outcome of this that’s not going to go to shit,” </p><p>Something clicked in her mind at the sound of his Brooklyn accent, eerily identical to Steve’s when he got frustrated, and for a moment she was sixteen again in a long tutu. She sighed, letting her thumb catch on the ridges of the cup. </p><p>“When have you ever known Steve to listen to anything that’s good for him,” </p><p>“Touché-“ </p><p>His grin was easy and she turned back to the building, walking towards the bin to get rid of her cup. Her heels echoed off the cobblestone in the empty square, it was still early – must’ve only been about 7 am. </p><p>“Natalya, look I-” </p><p>She started at that, the way his mouth curved around the vowels. She hated him, fiercely hated him for a second at his ability to tear down every single meticulous wall she’d put up in the last however many years in a matter of 4 syllables. </p><p>“No one calls me that anymore.” </p><p>He huffed out a laugh behind her, she turned around just as an oddly fond look flitted across his features. </p><p>“I have to say, I did enjoy the irony of that one, turning your diminutive into your formal name,” he turned back to the theatre, crushing his own empty coffee cup in his left hand, the sunlight glaring off the metal in a way that made her want to flinch, “-and no one believes me when I say you’ve got a flair for the dramatics,” </p><p>She scoffed at him, light-hearted for the most part.  </p><p>“You’re one to talk, Barnes, I heard that you once laughed so hard you fell off a haystack and broke your leg.” </p><p>“That Yankee bastard, never could keep his mouth shut,” she noticed as something washed over his eyes, his left hand was clenched again. She realised after a moment of watching his compose himself, that this was probably the longest he’d been out of cryo since she was nineteen, twenty maybe – sometime after she’d left the ballet. As if he was following her thoughts, he turned to the Mariinsky with a far-off smile. A group of young girls was chattering excitedly, running up the steps in tights and puffy coats. </p><p>“La Sylphide,” he muttered, almost too quiet for her to catch, she met his gaze and he spoke again, echoey through the mist from his breath, “-that’s what you were dancing, the first time I saw you, La Sylphide,” </p><p>She nodded, not remembering exactly, she must’ve been fifteen or so, but felt the music in her bones, remembered how her costume had had a little pocket at the waist for a pistol. She swallowed, rolled her shoulders back, and let the music clear her brain. </p><p>“We both know Steve isn’t going to listen to me when it comes to you, Sargeant,” he opened his mouth as if to say something, but she continued before he could, “- and even more than that, we both know that Tony sure as hell isn’t going to listen to anyone when he finds out what’s in the file that’s currently sitting on Steve’s desk,” </p><p>“Why anyone would want to sleep with Howard in the first place -” </p><p>“<em> James.” </em> she couldn’t help the fond smile that warmed her features as she chastised him, she often forgot he’d had a life, had friends and a family before Bolshoi. He started a little, she supposed no one had said his name in a fair while. It felt odd on her own tongue, stale, she’d known him foremost as Iakov and then as <em> Soldat, </em> or perhaps it had been the other way around, anyway-  </p><p>“Look,” she spoke softer, the line of her mouth hardening again as she took a cautious step closer, he didn’t move back, eyes fixed on her own, “- the cats out of the bag with me now, I'm no longer fooling anyone with 25,” his mouth twitched at that, she was only a decade younger than him, which was nothing really at their, respective, ages.  </p><p>“This isn’t to save my own skin, I want to help - I really do,” she took a breath, felt the cold air fill her sinuses, and continued, “-Steve trusts me, but he’d do, will do, anything for you,” </p><p>He let out a huff of air, his mouth curving up again for a second as he looked away. </p><p>“I’ve only seen Steve listen to two people in his whole goddamn life, the punk, the first being his mother and the second Agent Carter,” he swallowed, visibly trying not to grimace, “- now Peggy could make a camel listen with a blink, she had that effect on people, but Sarah was different, softer – didn't mean she couldn’t scare you shitless – anyway, the difference was, he listened to them because he loved them, not only that – he respected them,” </p><p>She raised her eyebrows, waiting for his point, instead, all she got was that god-awful shit-eating grin, he coughed to cover up a laugh. </p><p>“I saw your trial, up at Capitol Hill,” he began to walk backward, she didn’t try to stop him, “-Steve can be a dim-witted asshole, but he knows loyalty when he sees it, respects it too,”  </p><p>His eyebrows raised as he grinned wider, turning and walking – swaggering, really, in a way that was all James Barnes – out of the square, chucking a two-fingered salute at her over his head. </p><p>“Do svidaniya, Natalya,” </p><p>- </p><p>She waited 5 hours or so, and then her palms itched to the point she had no choice but to pick up the phone and call Steve. It rang for 15 seconds, and she was about to hang up, but suddenly the line cleared. </p><p>“<em> Natasha,” </em> </p><p>He somehow managed to sound relieved, worried, and giddy all in one word. She jerked at the overwhelming peace that washed over her, it was like getting into fresh sheets, or walking through the door after a mission, knowing no one expected anything from you for the next 24 hours. </p><p>Dramatic flair indeed, being in love with one super-soldier in your life just didn’t quite make the cut, it seemed. </p><p> </p><p>* </p><p>Berlin happened, and Natasha had never been so angry in her life. She was so irrevocably and overwhelmingly seething that it swallowed her whole until there was nothing left of her but white-hot rage. In the end, it's all she could do but to go and teach ballet for a season to feel anything else at all.  </p><p>She was angry at Steve for being so goddamn stubborn, angry at James for having the sense, (ha! James Barnes having the sense, don’t make her laugh), to have seen this coming – and tell her as much - and not try to stop him. More than anything she was seething at herself for not going with them, for not doing more to stop this – she could’ve done more- </p><p>Realistically she knew that was a lie, there was nothing more that could’ve been done. Tony had a right to know – and Tony being Tony - believed he had the right to bring everything down with him. Perhaps he did. Natasha was too old to still be caught in the middle of these arguments, she was tired of being stretched thin between two sides, (again, a lie, she knew exactly whose side she’d choose if the time came again, which it inevitably would), and decided she needed to get away before she did something she’d really regret, or Tony dug himself deeper into his own grave – or Steve for that fact.  </p><p>So, she went to Paris, and she taught ballet. The director of the Opera Ballet owed her, and she owed her French skills fresh practice. It was easy, to throw herself back into choreography and the strict routines, the smell of resin, and the raked stage, it had always calmed her. She’d danced on this stage once when she was nineteen, guest-starred as Juliet for a run while she and Barnes simultaneously eradicated various KGB and Red Room threats. </p><p>She was stretching late in the studio when they finally showed up. The melody of the balcony variation from Romeo and Juliet pours out of her speakers as she moved through the grand battements on her left side. She was alone, and then she was not. The light caught off Steve's hair like moonlight, but then again, she thought that could just be the effect of the music. She finished on both sides before acknowledging him, leaving the music on to cover their voices from any stragglers.  </p><p>Her hand gripped the barre like a vice as she took him in, stood in the doorway with that same apprehensive look, except there was a distinct hunger behind it - he was trying not to let his eyes roam. She huffed a laugh, men were all the same, really, some were just more polite than others. </p><p>“I cannot begin to tell you how angry I am,”  </p><p>Despite her words, her voice sounded soft, hitting off the walls and filling the space between them. He opened his mouth, perhaps to apologise, to justify maybe, but no, Steve didn’t make excuses for his choices, they were just that, his choices. She respected that about him, his unflinching sense of righteousness. He settled on a chuckle, the corners of his mouth soft, verging on smug. </p><p>“Please do,’ his head dropped as he swallowed back a grin, hands in his pockets, “- shout at me all you want, Nat, I deserve it.” </p><p>It’s not self-deprecating, the way he says it, just sincere, truthful.  </p><p>She sighed; she didn’t want to fight. She was angry, sure, but shouting wouldn’t solve it, she was too old to be that naïve. </p><p>She dropped her hand from the barre and decides on a different technique. She padded over to him, pushing up onto demi-pointe to wrap her arms around his shoulders. He smelt like cigarettes and evening air. His arms curled around her instantly, his own face falling into the crook of her neck. </p><p>“For what it’s worth – and do not let this go to your ego, Rogers, it doesn’t need any more stroking,”  </p><p>He snorted into her neck. </p><p>“Is that a euphemism, Romanoff,” and Barnes’ voice filtered in from the corridor to drawl “Yeah it is” and she could hear the smug grin in his tone, bastard. </p><p>She smacked Steve’s shoulder for good measure and shouted back ‘Bite me, Barnes!’ to the corridor, at which she received a laugh, deep and rich, startling her.  </p><p>“Give me a time and place, Natashenka,” And yeah, he was definitely flirting with her now.  </p><p>She pulled back, hands placed on Steve’s shoulders, still on demi-pointe, but practically being held up by his hands spanning her waist.  </p><p>“For what it’s worth,” she tried again, swallowing down a shiver, “– you were right Steve, about Ross and the accords, all of it – it's ridiculous to think it would change anything,” </p><p>“You meant well, Nat – and besides, you were right in yourself, staying together is more important than how we stay together,” his voice was warm, but it made her want to shiver, she pulled back a little more, coming down on to flat, “-I’m sorry I couldn’t see that earlier,” </p><p>She moved to grab her things, shutting off the music and unplugging her phone, suddenly feeling quite resolved to leave Paris.  </p><p>“Well,” she said, turning off the lights and moving into the dim corridor, Steve on her tail, “-you always were a stubborn ass, by all accounts,” </p><p>Steve yelled in protest, but James, - who was standing facing the entrance midway down the corridor, old habits die hard, she supposed – just said, “‘Atta girl” and smiled at her as she reached him. </p><p>“Natalya,” he said with a nod, eyes mischievous, “- didn’t I tell you it would all go to shit,” he spoke in Russian and it took her a moment for her brain to catch up but when it did, she shook her head, huffing as Steve shoved his jacket around her shoulders – it was <em> August </em>for Christ's sake. </p><p>“Yeah, well at least we’re not fugitives – oh wait,”  </p><p>James laughed again and she’s caught by surprise again at the easy nature surrounding them, she settled into it and they followed her through the city, still bustling despite the late hour. </p><p>“So, 1927, huh?” Steve said, his eyes gleaming, “- what was that phrase again, not all things to all people?” </p><p>She glared at him, but it lacked any real intent. </p><p>“You two,” she said, pulling Steve’s jacket tighter around herself, the air was chillier than she’d expected, “- are insufferable.”  </p><p>James said, “She’s got a point, pal,” and Steve snickered, shaking his head. </p><p> </p><p>* </p><p><em> When she was twenty, she set fire to the Bolshoi theatre to kill the Polish head of state, along with herself, or Nadya, and Baronovsky, their mission there was complete. </em> </p><p>
  <em> It took 2 years for the theatre to reopen, but she doesn’t return for 40 years. She visits her own memorial with not a day's aging on her face, her hair under a hat, and her eyes on the floor. Although it was highly unlikely that anyone who would’ve recognised her would even still be alive.  </em>
</p><p><em> There had been a children’s class in the building at the same time, no survivors. She walked away from the building calmly and retched for hours in an alleyway before she could pull herself together. </em> </p><p><em> That night, she walked into a high-society bar in a gold-spun dress, and on orders from tetya, murdered the head of the KGB. </em> </p><p><em> The Soldat is there, watching her cautiously as she slipped away undetected in the chaos, nothing more than a shadow. </em> </p><p><em> He didn’t say anything, and when she saw him again, or at least in her memory, it was with a blank stare and a slug through her torso. </em> </p><p> </p><p>* </p><p>She was rifling through her cupboards for extra bowls when she heard Barnes shift behind her. She could hear the water running in the bathroom and deduced Steve must be in the shower.  </p><p>“You changed your hair,” he said, and when she turned to look at him, he was leaning against the door frame. She noticed his own haircut, short, not unlike the photos of him in the Smithsonian exhibit. Her own hair was a deep copper, lighter than it was at Berlin but not as bright as she’d had it before, more natural. </p><p>“So did you,” she replied, stretching up to where she knew there was extra crockery on a very top shelf, huffing with frustration until she felt his hand, his right hand, at her back and the glint of silver in the corner of her eye reaching up and grabbing the bowls effortlessly. He moved to her side and leaned against the counter; his face subtly curious. </p><p>“We’ve been here before, I mean, to Paris,”  </p><p>She practically watched the cogs as they whirred in his brain trying to connect the dots and she nodded, clutching the bowls to her stomach. </p><p>“1946? I think,” she said, trying to grasp onto any dates, specifics, her own memory wasn’t the most reliable, “I did a winter run of Juliet, we did a winter run of politicians,”  </p><p>“Ah,” he said with a grimace, his brain catching up. His eyes fell to her mid-torso where a scar still ran from her hip to her ribs. Natasha shivered. She recalled the feeling of the snow numbing her skin, and the heat from his hands, even the metal one, warm in comparison to the ice, remembered seeing the fresh white powder stained a deep crimson from her blood. The water shut off, snapping them both out of their heads.  </p><p>She moved to the sink, washing the bowls methodically, speaking quieter now their voices weren’t drowned out by the shower. </p><p>“Where have you been, then,” </p><p>“Here and there, you know,”  </p><p>She really didn’t know, but she let him speak. </p><p>“-rescued some of your friends off of a boat prison, Barton sends his regards.” </p><p>She snapped her eyes to his and something flashed behind them. Bastard, he was pushing her, seeing how far he could go. </p><p>“Barton,” she sniped, “- knows exactly where to find me if he wanted to, the asswipe,” </p><p>He snorted and she watched him again for a moment. He was sat at her table, silver arm jarring against the pale wood. She spotted as something gave way in him as he decided to trust her. </p><p>“Ah fuck it, he would’ve told you anyway, the sucker,” she raised her eyebrows, “ – we've been in Wakanda,” she raised her eyebrows even further at that, “T’challa felt bad about the whole trying to falsely accuse me of his father’s murder situation, offered us a hiding spot,”  </p><p>“Well, roundabout is fair play," she said, still a quietly surprised, “I guess,”  </p><p>He laughed softly and Steve chose that moment to walk in, oblivious as always, hair slightly darker from the shower and shirt about five sizes too small.  </p><p>Natasha rolled her eyes and placed a bowl of bolognese in front of each of them which they both instantly started devouring like a pair of savages. She scoffed and walked towards the bathroom, stretching out her right forearm as she went. </p><p>“There better be some hot water left, or there’ll be hell to pay Rogers,”   </p><p>She heard him reply something in an affronted manner, or at least as affronted as you can sound through a mouthful of pasta, and she just about caught James saying to him “You always were a princess getting ready,” and there was the sound of a chair scraping and a foot hitting a shin, Barnes yelled out and Natasha smiled despite herself. </p><p>- </p><p> “So,” she said casually, tying her hair up into a bun atop her head, “-what’s the plan then,” </p><p>Neither of them said anything, which worried her in the first place, but she got even more worried when they glanced at each other for less than a second before turning back to her, expressions innocent as lambs, as if butter wouldn’t melt. Natasha narrowed her eyes. </p><p>“Can’t a coupla’ guys take a vacation to see their favourite redhead?” and, yeah, Natasha could see why girls would fall at James Barnes’ feet, but she knew better. </p><p>“Don’t try it,” she hissed, “-either of you,” she turned her glare from James to Steve, their positions mirrored, sparkling blue eyes and boyish smirks which, if anything, grew wider at her words. </p><p>“We just missed you, is all,” Steve said, face all angelic, and Natasha realised she was in danger now, they were both on top form. “-Tony was worried about you,” </p><p>She stopped short at that, eyebrows flying up to her hairline. </p><p>“I wasn’t aware you and <em> Tony </em> were on speaking terms,” she felt anger prickle in the back of the throat, Steve's jaw clenched, James remained utterly neutral. </p><p>“We’re not,” he said stiffly, still furious in that case, “- we spoke once, he hadn’t heard from you, thought I might know where you were.” </p><p>She snorted, clenching her nails into her palm to ground herself, James’ eyes flicked down and caught her, she moved her hand into her lap under the table. </p><p>“Stark made it very clear he had no desire to hear from me the last time we spoke,” </p><p>They both watched her, all of them in a battle of silence until their gazes felt like ants on her skin and she couldn’t bear it any longer. </p><p>“Look,” she said, clearing her throat, “Tony is a top-class asshole,” </p><p>“‘Aint that the truth,” Steve said, Natasha flashed a stern look at him. </p><p>“However, he had been put in an impossible situation, and I guess in his mind, it made sense to suspect me,” </p><p>James' eyebrows furrowed a little, and Natasha caught Steve's jaw clenching. </p><p>“You’re preaching to the choir here, boys,” she said, throwing her hands up before either of them could argue back, “You have no idea how much it pissed me off, but,” she paused, considering how to phrase the next part, she settled on carefully. “I also know he only said it because he was at breaking point,” She coughed. “Anyway, what’s done is done, he’ll call when he’s ready,” </p><p>She flashed them a small smile, but she was sure they could see that she was done talking about it, that was the only explanation for Steve's jaw softening and James’ noncommittal hum. </p><p>“Well,” she swallowed, tucking her knees up between her chest and the table. Steve’s eyes flashed; James swallowed a smile. “-out with it then,” </p><p>They looked at each other, and in some feat of telepathic communication, seemed to have a whole conversation. She watched on, vaguely amused until they seemed to reach a conclusion, James looked at her for a moment, blue eyes lasering into her own, and then nodded, not moving his gaze. </p><p>“We’ve been busting remnant Hydra joints, Bucky thinks you can help,” </p><p>Well that wasn’t too hard was it, she huffed out a puff of air. </p><p>“While I appreciate the sentiment, boys, I was the property of Red Room, not Hydra,” </p><p>She looked to James for confirmation but he grimaced, her stomach dropped. </p><p>“Look I’m not certain, but from what I’ve remembered, dear old tetya had a deal with Karpov who had a deal originally with Lukin, who worked for Zola,” he paused, gauging her reaction, she kept her face neutral – a china mask, “-Red Room wasn’t purely Hydra run, your aunt was too proud for that, but they ran Hydra ops,” </p><p>“So,” her voice was dry, she cleared her throat, “-Department X -” </p><p>“Long story short, was Hydra, yes,”  </p><p>Steve had that god-awful nervous look on his face, she shot him another glare, and he did his best to neutralise his expression. James was watching her calmly, she sighed. </p><p>“Well, wish I could say I was surprised,” she tapped her fist against the table a few times, feeling restless all of a sudden “but it actually makes sense,” </p><p>She shrugged, James relaxed, knew she was over it, but Steve still looked cautious. </p><p>“So...”  </p><p>He trailed off, the question left unspoken, hanging in the air between them. </p><p>“I’ll help as much as I can, but my memory can’t be much better than James’,” </p><p>“Yeah,” James said, the corners of his mouth lifting, “-we have a solution for that, too.” </p><p>- </p><p><em> She knew she must’ve been dreaming, because she could hear the music to the Black Swan coda, but she was still in her Odette costume and the choreography is all wrong, snappier, Balanchine if she had to guess. </em> </p><p><em> She looked down expecting to see white feathers, but all she found was crimson and the music was swelling and she was turning and- </em> </p><p><em> She was holding a gun, the metal cold and heavy in her palm, pointing it at someone she can’t see. Her feet pinched as she remained en pointe, the music dipped, pausing before the 32 fouettés, she fired. </em> </p><p><em> A body slumped to the ground, lithe and muscular, a river of bright red hair cascading down her shoulders. The gun is gone, she pivoted and all she could see was silver. Silver round her throat. She passed out just as the music rested on the final note, and all she could see behind her eyelids are red on silver and red on white and red, red, red. </em> </p><p><em> - </em> </p><p>Steve was already up when she gave up on pretending to be asleep any longer. James was still passed out on the pull-out bed when she passed the living room, and she shook her head with a smile. Steve had already been out for a run, by the looks of it, and she wondered if he’d even been to sleep at all. </p><p>He handed her a mug of tea without a word, smiling when she squeezed his arm lightly in thanks. He watched her, cautious, for a few moments, clenching his fists. </p><p>“Look, Nat,” </p><p>She swallowed down her tea with a grimace, “Uh oh, you’re about to ruin my denial bubble, aren’t you?” </p><p>He chuckled and moved into her space, dropping a soft kiss on her hairline. </p><p>“I love you,” his voice was quiet in the morning light, and he spoke like he was praying at an altar. She felt like she was drowning. “-I thought I should tell you properly before -” </p><p>“Before what, Steve?” she moved back from where her forehead was resting on his arm, swallowing down the tightness rising in her throat at his words. <em> Asshole, </em>had to go and get all sentimental on her, he knew she hated it, made her all flighty. His eyes flicked between hers, tentative, blue like artificially flavoured candyfloss. </p><p>“We don’t know what you’re going to remember,” her body wanted to shudder, but she pushed it away, “I want you to have something true,” </p><p>There was such a distinct sincerity behind his words that she couldn’t help but stop short. Out of a million words swirling around her head she chose a muttered “Thank you,” and rested her face back on his arm, putting her tea on the counter and lacing their fingers together, squeezing his palm 3 times.  </p><p>- </p><p>“Give it to me one more time,” she said, standing in the Quinjet, syringe of light blue liquid in her palms. </p><p>“That right there darlin’,” James drawled from behind her, “- are molecular cells extracted straight from Stevie’s jacked up body,”  </p><p>His hands were on her shoulders and she could hear the grin in the words. Steve was sat at the front, setting in their coordinates for just east of Kyiv. James leaned closer and tapped the syringe over her shoulder. </p><p>“One shot of that, and you’ll be good as new,” </p><p>She closed her fists around the glass and turned, he hadn’t moved back, so she had to look up to meet his gaze. </p><p>“And it worked for you,”  </p><p>“Like a dream,” he was smiling at her faintly, a mischievous spark flickered behind his eyes, “-don’t tell me the great Natasha Romanoff is scared,” </p><p>She narrowed her eyes up at him, smacking the top of his arm. </p><p>“No shit I'm scared, you idiot,” she turned to walk towards the back, pushing up her left sleeve as James grabbed her arm, pulling her back. She yelped out in surprise at the cold of the metal on her wrists. His face was sincere, serious, she shut her mouth and followed him. He steered them further away from Steve, throwing a glance over his shoulder to make sure he was occupied. </p><p>“You speak to Steve this morning?” his hands were still on her arms, she swallowed and nodded. His eyes softened slightly, and he squeezed her forearms, she felt her throat catch. </p><p>“Don’t you dare, Barnes,” she hissed, “- this is the world record for worst timing, even for you,” </p><p>“He said you went to the ballet, saw Giselle,”  </p><p>She didn’t say anything, blinked at him twice, while he took a breath. It wasn’t a question; he’d set it up in the first place. </p><p>“One of the first things I got back, was you in that white tutu,” he shook his head, “gods, you must’ve been sixteen or something, and even then, I knew, Natalya Romanova was a force to be reckoned with,” </p><p>“Well,” she said primly, swallowing down the bile rising in her throat, “If that’s all,” </p><p>She began to turn around again, a little upset he’d completely eradicated the straggling remnants of last night's playful mood, but his voice stopped her again. </p><p>“Natalya,” </p><p>Gods, he sounded wrecked. She twiddled with the syringe between her fingers, not turning, “-it’s not nice, not any of it really, and I just -” </p><p>He took a shaky breath and she shut her eyes; her own voice was wobbly. </p><p>“James, please,” </p><p>“No, no I think you should hear it Natalya, and it’s not excusin’ anything, but it’s true, and Steve wants you to have the truth,” he paused, and she was clutching the glass so hard that she expected it to shatter any second – she wasn’t sure she’d even be that upset. “You were the only thing that felt real the whole time, and I loved you – still do for that matter, and that’s the truth,” </p><p>She silently seethed through the prickling behind her eyes, how dare they both spring this on her in a matter of hours. She could hear James breathing behind her but she couldn’t move, her feet were stuck to the floor. </p><p>“Natasha,” </p><p>Steve’s voice filtered from the front of the Quinjet, and she pulled herself together enough to neutralise her expression and turn around. They were both watching her, and she felt a wave of violent affection rip through her at the sight of them both.  </p><p>“Good luck,”  </p><p>She nodded at him, letting the corners of her mouth turn up a little, before shifting her gaze to James, swallowing down the tears as they stared at each other for a moment. She turned and walked to the back without a word. </p><p>“That went well, then,” </p><p>“Shut your damn mouth, Rogers, this was your bright idea,” Bucky smiled, walking over to his best friend, grabbing the side of his face gently, thumb on his lip, “-I told you she wouldn’t take it well,” </p><p>Steve turned his face to kiss the inside of Bucky's right palm, smiling at the doorway the redhead had just disappeared through. </p><p>“It’s Nat,” he said, fiercely fond, “-she’ll come around,” </p><p>* </p><p><em> There was broken glass on the stage, texture rough under her pointe shoes as she made her way into the wings, twiddling a knife between her fingers, pushing the tip into her thumb until a spot of crimson appears. The Soldat – not Baranovsky, he’s the Soldat – was standing in front of a corps member, Irena, Natalya thinks her name was. She was trembling, tears cutting through her white face makeup. </em> </p><p><em> “Nadya,” she sobbed, eyes widening at the knife in the redhead’s hands, “-why are you doing this,” </em> </p><p><em> Natalya didn’t say anything, only apologised to the girl in her head – she wasn’t meant to die, but she’d seen too much and tetya said she must be disposed of. She walked round to the back of her slumped form, facing the Soldat, his face impassive as he aims a gun at the woman’s throat. Natalya watched him as she crouched down and slit the girl’s throat. </em> </p><p><em> “Good, vdova” </em> </p><p><em> Natalya smiled. </em> </p><p><em> * </em> </p><p><em> “You think you love him, don’t you Natalya?” </em> </p><p><em> Her aunt’s laugh was harsh when Natalya doesn’t reply </em> </p><p><em> “Listen to me now,” the woman said, her finger tracing a run of condensation down her champagne flute, “- men like that love one thing, and one thing only – do you know what that thing is, Natalya?” </em> </p><p><em> Natalya shook her head, pursing her lips, stained red, and focusing all her energy into keeping her expression impassive. </em> </p><p><em> “-the kill, they love only the kill – is that clear?” </em> </p><p><em> “Crystal.” </em> </p><p><em> * </em> </p><p><em> “You move like a shooting star, up on that stage.” </em> </p><p><em> (he said you’re like starlight) </em> </p><p><em> * </em> </p><p><em> “I love you, please,” </em> </p><p><em> His hand tightened on her throat, the silver striking against her pale skin. She heard tetya laugh. </em> </p><p><em> * </em> </p><p><em> “You are the only thing that’s real Natashenka,” </em> </p><p><em> * </em> </p><p><em> He sunk his teeth into her shoulder as he rutted up into her, and she let her head fall back against the wall, clenching around him, trying to keep him in. </em> </p><p><em> He cursed in English when he came, head falling into her neck as his left hand held her up. She recited his name like a vigil in the dark until she reached her own climax. </em> </p><p><em> JamesJamesJamesJames </em> </p><p><em> * </em> </p><p><em> “Aim for their neck, vdova, it cuts off oxygen faster,” </em> </p><p><em> She adjusted her angle, lifting the gun up a little higher. The man in the chair tried to scream through the tape. </em> </p><p><em> “Da, Soldat,” </em> </p><p><em> She fired, the screaming stops. </em> </p><p><em> * </em> </p><p>Natasha woke up slowly, letting the hum of the engine bring her out of unconsciousness. Her head felt like someone had taken a meat cleaver down the middle of it, and she didn’t recall the overhead lights being this bright beforehand. She tried to sit up, and just about made it to the bathroom before she was throwing up. She retched for 5 minutes before her stomach stopped convulsing and she was able to sit up without wanting to keel over.  </p><p>There was no sign of James or Steve. She sat back against the wall, filtering through her new memories, filling in the blank spaces. She let out a curse under her breath and pushed up to standing, resolving to go find them, wanting to get it over and done with.  </p><p>She threw up once more from the rush of blood to her head, but managed to make it to the main cockpit without passing out, which she called a victory. </p><p>The boys were passed out, and a look at the monitors confirmed that they had an hour left until they made it to their destination. </p><p>She grabbed a bottle of water, swilling it round her mouth to clear out the sour taste left in her mouth. She eyed the cereal bars but decided against it when her stomach gave a violent twist in protest. </p><p>She wasn’t as startled as she probably should've been to find James watching her when she turned around. Steve was still asleep by the looks of it, and she had a strong urge to go and curl up on his other side like a housecat.  </p><p>James didn’t say anything, only watched her with that cautious expression she was seriously fed up with. </p><p>“Well,” she said quietly with a sigh when it became clear he was waiting for her to make the first move, “-it’s definitely not good, but it could be worse,” </p><p>She massaged her temples, trying to quieten the thoughts that were rushing around her head a million miles a minute. </p><p>“Feel like utter shit, but yeah,” she grimaced, “Nasty stuff,” </p><p>“And me?” he said finally, his voice almost indiscernible over the engine. </p><p>“-Are an asshole for springing a love declaration on me like that with no warning,” she padded towards him, kneeled down in front of him and kissed his cheek, hands on his face, his shoulders relaxed instantly. “- what’s done is done, James, let's just leave it at that,” </p><p>The line of his mouth hardened and he was about to argue, but she beat him to it. </p><p>“For now, that’s all I need, okay? We can have it out some other time but for now, for now I’m fine,”  </p><p>He still didn’t look satisfied with her response, but Steve woke up and was reaching for her before James got a chance to argue. </p><p>“You okay?” Steve’s voice was slurred from sleep, but his eyes were alert, tracking over her for anything wrong, she smiled at him, as bright as she could manage. </p><p>“I will be as soon as you move over,” </p><p>He did just that, lifting his arm for her to curl up under, dropping a chaste kiss to the top of her head as she reached across him for James’s right hand – not the left, the sight of it made her want to puke a little bit still – and squeezed his palm. She laced their fingers and kept their joined hands firmly in her lap. </p><p>“So,” Steve said, eyes shut, “Russian-spy-ballet school, huh?” </p><p>“Something like that,” she said with a kittenish yawn, giving James’ hand another squeeze as she burrowed into Steve's side. </p><p>She’d never fallen asleep against a wall so quickly in her life. </p><p>* </p><p>“I suggest,” she muttered, pushing the words through her teeth stiffly, “that you boys leave the talking to me here,” </p><p>Steve sighed. </p><p>“Nat, we’ve lasted this long,” </p><p>“By sheer luck, no doubt,” she huffed out a laugh, “No offense Steve, but your methods aren’t exactly subtle.” </p><p>She chucked a glance over her shoulder and caught him shrugging, the sunlight was filtering through the skylight caught in the gold of his hair. She turned back around and continued forward down the corridor. </p><p>“Mila can be difficult, to say the least,” she heard James snort behind her, “One sniff of trouble and she’ll be gone, so if you could try your best to stand there and look as pretty as possible, that would be much appreciated,” </p><p>She pushed open the large wooden double doors at the end of the corridor. Behind them sat a box room with a singular table in the centre, at which sat a woman in her late 40s, her face pinched and hair dark. </p><p>“You’ve got a hell of a lot of nerve bringing an amerikanskiy in here, Romanova, never mind one as recognisable as that,”  </p><p>Her voice was quiet in a way that could appear soft, but instead had the effect of draining every thread of heat from your body and setting you completely on edge. </p><p>“Mila,” Natasha said with a nod, face solemn, “You have what I asked for?” </p><p>“Of course,” the woman said with a wave of her hand, her accent curled heavy around the words. There was a file on the table in front of her, Natasha didn’t move to take it. The woman’s eyes flicked to behind her other shoulder, mouth widening into a dangerous smile, knife sharp. “I see you’ve brought an old friend,” she felt James tense behind her as she spoke in Russian, “Off one leash and onto another, Soldat?” </p><p>“I didn’t realise we were here for a catch-up, Kuznetsov” Natasha hissed, her own tone razor sharp. “Now, if you don’t mind,” Mila’s eyes snapped back to hers, and after watching for a moment, she pushed the file across the table towards her with a single finger, face pinched again. </p><p>Natasha took the file from the table, turning to leave with a muttered “Spasibo”. </p><p>“Natalya,” the woman’s voice stopped her just as she passed back through the doors, she turned back, James and Steve also turned to watch the woman curiously, “Would it be uncouth of me to say you’ve managed to collect quite the priceless set there,” </p><p>Her eyes were challenging as James clenched his jaw. Natasha stared at the woman for a moment, noticed how old she looked since the last time she’d saw her, and was certain she looked no different than the first time they met. </p><p>“Yes, it would be,” she said, faintly amused, “But you’ve said it now,” </p><p>The woman’s fist clenched on the table. James smiled at her viciously, and was following Natasha down the corridor, Steve matched his gait. </p><p>They’d made it out the building before Steve let out his breath. </p><p>“Christ,” he said with a chuckle, “I really need to learn some Russian,” </p><p>James raised his eyebrows at her, “Priceless set, huh?” </p><p>Steve turned to look at her, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. </p><p>“You do realise,” she said, sugary sweet, “That I am living out the fantasy life of a century’s worth of teenagers,”  </p><p>James’ eyes flashed at her, challenging. Steve laughed richly. He’d moved behind her and his hand slipped around her hip. </p><p>“I’ll give you something to fantasise about,” James said, and Natasha shivered – how had this happened then? Adrenaline, she supposed, made people high. </p><p>Steve leaned down until his mouth was next to her ear, eyes on James. </p><p>“Do you think we could make it away from the suspicious building before ripping any clothes off,” </p><p>His voice was teasing, but he was right, as usual. </p><p>“Don’t tempt me,” James said, but his eyes had cleared and the mood had shifted again. </p><p>Steve squeezed Natasha’s hip and then moved away, she had to physically stop herself from whining at the loss of contact and instead focused on the walk back to the Quinjet.  </p><p>They were all like formula 1 engines amped up at the starting point, and she was getting nervous for when the gunshot fired and the flags fell. </p><p>-</p><p>“So, this is a whole lot of things we already knew,” Natasha said with a sigh, dropping the file on the sideboard as she turned to Steve, “You heard back from Sam yet?”  </p><p>He nodded, crossing his arms, “Yeah, he said he and Sharon got intel on hydra activity just west of Indiana, the place was completely emptied out when they got there, nothing but a few monitors from the 80s,” she furrowed her eyebrows, “He said they’re going to keep an eye on it until we get back,” </p><p>“Oh, I bet <em> they </em>are,” she said, raising her eyebrows suggestively, Steve shook his head at her, “Can't believe I missed that one, actually, here I was trying to get you and Sharon together,” </p><p>“Yeah,” Steve said, leaning back against the chair, smile fond “Not one of your finest moments,” </p><p>“Wasn’t she Peggy’s niece?” James said, walking up behind her, metaphorical stirring spoon in hand. </p><p>Natasha grimaced, “Yes, well I can see how that could be a little inappropriate,”  </p><p>Steve snorted and tugged on a piece of her hair, James moved over to the file, flicking through the contents absentmindedly.  </p><p>“So?” he said, eyebrows raised in question. </p><p>“Indiana,” Natasha said, flicking Steve's hand away. </p><p>“<em> Indiana? </em>” James said, perplexed, “That base has been empty since the late seventies,” </p><p>“Which means,” Natasha followed his train of thought. </p><p>“Someone is taking extra caution to clean something up,” Steve finished, and it really was electric, the way they all bounced off each other like that. </p><p>“Any ideas?” James said, looking at Natasha. </p><p>“Unfortunately, yes,” she said, blanching a little, “I believe a family reunion is in order,” </p><p>* </p><p><em> “Your right side is adequate, but your left,” Tetya huffed out a laugh, “I’ve seen a pig move more gracefully than that,” </em> </p><p><em> Natalya refused to drop her head, kept her chin pointed up to the ceiling as she caught her breath. </em> </p><p><em> “Natka,” Tetya cooed in a way that made Natalya want to gag, “I just want what's best for you, don’t you want to be perfect?” </em> </p><p><em> “Yes, tetya” Natalya said, moving her feet back into 5 </em> <em> th </em> <em> position. </em> </p><p><em> “Good,” the woman said, “now, again, from the pas de bourrée,” </em> </p><p>* </p><p>Sam and Sharon were waiting at the end of the ramp when they landed in Indiana. </p><p>“I hate this damn state,” James said grumpily as they made their way down to them, Natasha snorted. </p><p>“Will it help my case,” She said as she reached out to give Sam a hug at the bottom of the ramp, “If I said I had no idea about the massive floating government prison,” </p><p>He grinned at her, eyes flashing, </p><p>“Have fun teaching the little kiddies, Romanoff?”  </p><p>Natasha pulled away, giving his shoulder a small shove. </p><p>“I really need to stop telling Clint where I'm going,” she said with a sigh, pulling Sharon into a tight hug as Steve clapped Sam on the shoulder and Bucky shook his hand, “He seems unable to grasp the idea of a low profile,” </p><p>“To be fair to him,” Sharon said with a conspiratorial smile, “He only told the whole team,” </p><p>- </p><p>The base had been completely stripped, just as they said it was, but Natasha and James still did a thorough sweep for anything that might’ve been left behind while Steve spoke to Sam and Sharon in a low voice in the corner. </p><p>Natasha was just finishing searching through an empty janitors' closet – the only thing that was left was a solitary broom - when James snuck up behind her. </p><p>“Anything?” </p><p>She turned and walked out of the closet, shutting the door behind her. </p><p>“Nothing,” she said, sighing frustratedly, “I just don’t understand why she’s trying to get our attention now,” </p><p>James crossed his arms over his chest with a shrug and followed her down the corridor back into the main office style room. </p><p>“Are we sure it’s her?”  </p><p>“Realistically, who else could it be?” she asked, running her hand against the large plain wall at the back of the room. </p><p>“Rogue sympathisers?” he said, but one look at his expression told her he agreed with her, he just wasn’t happy about it.  </p><p>“It’s just not like her,” she said, feeling the seams for a catch, “to not leave a clue, a tell of some sorts,” </p><p>Her fingers caught on a dip in the wall and when she pulled a door seemed to materialise out of nowhere. </p><p>“Bingo,” she said with a satisfied huff, pulling the door the rest of the way open and walked into the space behind. There was a single light that flashed half-heartedly when James pulled the switch, lighting up the space to show a single filing cabinet on its side, drawers all open and empty. </p><p>In the middle of the room sat a table, on top of which sat a rectangular photograph, placed perfectly in the centre of the tabletop. Natasha felt a rush of cold run down her spine as she reached out for the image. </p><p>“Well,” she said, turning the paper over to trace the caption on the back before passing it back to James over her shoulder, “Looks like we’re taking a trip to Monaco,” </p><p>“Wonderful,” James said flatly, looking at the photo of her standing on the beach, hair bright against the sand and large sloping white buildings behind her. The looping handwriting on the backdated the image as 1937. “Are you wearing a spotty bikini?” </p><p>Natasha groaned, snatching the image back. </p><p>“Shut your traitor mouth, Barnes,” </p><p>* </p><p>When she was eleven, Natalya visited Monte Carlo for the first time. Her aunt said it was a trip for business – Hydra business as she knew now – but by the end of the week Natalya had decided that she wanted to live in that city one day. </p><p>Give or take 90 years later, Natasha knew with complete finality that she would never step foot back in this godforsaken town for the rest of her life if she could help it. Where the lights had once blinded her into ignorance, they now set her on edge and revealed the true ugliness beneath. </p><p>It was still beautiful on the surface, and if she shut her eyes she could quite easily sink back into the glamour and luxury of her early youth. She shook her head, doing her best to clear the flashing behind her eyelids, and ran her hands down her dress.  </p><p>She had a knife strapped to each thigh, a pistol in her clutch, and her earrings had a small dose of lethal poison in them released through stabbing a victim, like a reverse EPI pen. </p><p>James let out a low whistle as she made her way over to Steve, straightening out his tie as he smiled down at her. </p><p>“You look beautiful,” he said, his hand skimming the back of her arm lightly, her cheeks just about resisted the urge to colour. </p><p>“I’d say,” James said gruffly behind her, and yeah, now she was blushing.  </p><p>“Stop it,” she said, moving to where her shoes sat next to the door, “I want both of you on your best behaviour, this has the possibility of going very sour very quickly,” </p><p>Steve said, “Yes ma’am,” while flashing a grin, and James shot her a two-fingered salute. Natasha shook her head. </p><p>She picked up her clutch from the side table, checking everything was still inside.  </p><p>“And Sam?” she said, flicking her gaze up to Steve. </p><p>“Ready and waiting in case of emergencies,” he pauses, looking sheepish, “Do you think it would be worth calling Tony?” </p><p>She thought for a moment. </p><p>“Honestly?” she asked, grimacing a little. He nodded. “I think it’d be far more trouble than it’s worth,” she paused for a moment, “Realistically what could he even do?” </p><p>Steve sighed. </p><p>“You’re right, as usual,”  </p><p>James coughed, swallowing a smile, she flashed him a daring glare. He raised his hands in surrender, Steve continued. “I just don’t want this to go to shit, god knows we don’t need any more bad press,”  </p><p>“I appreciate the sentiment, Steve, but calling Tony will only serve to complicate things even further – not just for us but for him too, and frankly, I don’t want to be held accountable for that,” </p><p>“Understood,” Steve said with a nod, letting his eyes drift down the line of her body, the teasing spark returned, “You hiding a polka-dot bikini under there by any chance?” </p><p>“I’m going to kill you, James Barnes,” she said calmly, giving her hair a last once over in the mirror by the door, “and I can tell you now it will not be quick and painless,” </p><p>“Promises, promises,” James said with a smirk. His hand settled lightly on the exposed on her back as they made their way into the corridor, sending a slight shiver down her spine. </p><p>* </p><p>Natasha spotted tetya within an instant of walking into the restaurant, the same one they’d sat in all those years ago. She had a glass of champagne in her hand and another in front of the seat opposite her. She looked a few years older at most since the last time Natalya saw her, she supposed she didn’t look much older herself. </p><p>Natasha cleared her expression and made her way through the crowd to the back of the room, Steve and James trailing behind her. </p><p>“Please try to play nice,” she said to both of them, but mainly James. </p><p>“I will if she does,” James said sharply, Natasha sighed and pushed forward. </p><p>“You’re late, Natalya,” the woman said before Natasha had even sat down properly. She let out a huff, smoothing down her dress over her legs. </p><p>“I didn’t realise we’d set a time,” she said, her eyes flashing. </p><p>“I see you’ve brought some friends, Natalya,” the woman said in lightly accented English, her eyes drifting from Steve to James over Natasha’s shoulder, “You always did like your accessories,” she enunciated the last word slowly, smiling faintly at Natasha's tight jawline. </p><p>“Y’know,” James said his voice light but undertone threatening, “I’m getting real tired of being called that,” </p><p>“James,” Natasha said lowly, warning in her tone, keeping her eyes locked on her aunts. </p><p>The older woman raised her eyebrows, faintly amused still. </p><p>“James?” she said, tone slightly mocking, “My, my, how forgiving we are these days,” </p><p>Natasha clenched her fists under the table, but kept her face impassive, chin pointed up. </p><p>“Would you give us a moment, boys,” her aunt said, sugary sweet, Natasha nodded her agreement, keeping her eyes forward, and felt Steve and James move back after a moment. </p><p>“I thought you had more sense than that,” Tetya snapped, switching back to Russian when they were out of earshot, “Not only the Winter Solider but the famous Captain America,” the woman paused, a slow smile stretching back across her face, “You’re playing a dangerous game there, darling,” </p><p>Natasha dropped her gaze, shifting her attention to the champagne flute in front of her, tracing a line down the curve of it. </p><p>“We here to talk, or are we here to question my love life?”  </p><p>“You got your memories back then?” Tetya said instead. Natasha lifted her head in assent, “Do you remember the first time I brought you here, I'd never seen a child so happy,”  </p><p>Natasha stopped tracing the glass, something clicking in her mind suddenly at the sound of her aunt's voice.  </p><p>“The woman on the station in the green coat...” she trailed off. </p><p>“Implanted memory,”  </p><p>Natasha nodded, figuring as much, tetya didn’t offer any more, but she didn’t push for it, wasn’t sure she even cared at this point. </p><p>“Look, darling, I’ll cut straight to the point, shall I?” the woman downed her drink in one, her expression still faintly amused. Natasha thought she blended into the glamour around her almost seamlessly. “I have nothing to do with Hydra, haven’t since the late 80s,”  </p><p>Of course, 1987, Natasha has killed the head of the KGB in Moscow – Lukin, it must've been. </p><p>“So, Indiana was...” Natasha started. </p><p>“A way to get your attention, exactly,” the woman smiled, the expression more sincere, “I heard you were teaching at Opéra,” </p><p>Natasha nodded jerkily. </p><p>“Natalya,” tetya said with a sigh, anyone would think she was concerned, Natasha wasn’t naïve. “These people will never let you go, you’ll fight their wars for another 50 years and they’ll still find a way to keep you there,” </p><p>Natasha snorted. </p><p>“What would you have me do, tetya, come and fight your battles instead,” </p><p>Something violent flashed behind the older woman’s eyes, but she sat back in her chair with a smile. </p><p>“You’re too valuable an asset, Natalya, it’s high time you realised that,” </p><p>“Maybe you’re right,” Natasha said with a small smile, moving to stand up, “but if it takes me fighting their battles to keep the world turning, it’s a deal I’m willing to take,” </p><p>The woman only smiled, gesturing the waiter for the bill. </p><p>“Goodbye, tetya” </p><p>She moved to walk away, but her aunt’s voiced stopped her. </p><p>“Men like that will never give up on war, darling, killing is in their blood,”  </p><p>Natasha’s eyes met Steve’s and James from across the room, they both smiled at her brightly as they leaned against each other at the bar. </p><p>“Perhaps,” she said without turning, a small smile creeping on to her own face, “but it’s in mine too,” </p><p>* </p><p>“Y’know,” Steve said, hands on his hips and a wide smile on his face as he looked up at the brownstone they’d come to look at, “I never get tired of coming back to Brooklyn,” </p><p>“Well, I for one, think it’s a dump,” Natasha said primly, her face pinched. It was a big fat lie; they’d passed the sweetest little ballet school on the way here, and it seemed to be a quiet neighbourhood, something they needed. They were still technically fugitives of the law, but Tony had pulled some major strings, and the rest was unimportant, really. </p><p>“Don’t be a snob, Natalya,” James said, throwing an arm around her shoulder and dropping a kiss to the side of her head, “You’d be two boyfriends short if it weren’t for this dump,” </p><p>“And a damn sight happier for it too I'd guess,” she said, squealing when James pinched her side. Her face grew solemn. </p><p>“I love you,” she said earnestly, reaching out for Steve with her free hand, “Both of you, I’m sorry I haven’t said it before, I just get-” </p><p>“All flighty, yeah, we know sweetheart,” Steve let her pull him into her other side, his hand intertwining with James’ at her back.  </p><p>“We know you love us darlin’,” James said softly, lips against her temple, “You don’t blush half as much for anyone else for a start,” </p><p>Natasha groaned, elbowing him lightly in the side. </p><p>“I swear on Clint’s life, if you don’t wipe that stupid smirk off your face right now Barnes – you too for that matter, Rogers - I will leave right now and never look back,” </p><p>“Would now be a bad time to point out that you're blushing,” Steve said, kissing her cheek where it was tinged pink. She dropped her head onto his chest with another groan, smiling when she heard them kiss over her head. </p><p>Yeah, she could live with Brooklyn. </p><p>* </p><p><br/>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Giselle">Giselle ballet</a>
  <br/>
  <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_Sylphide">La Sylphide ballet</a>
  <br/>
  <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Swan_Lake">Swan Lake ballet</a>
  <br/>
  <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Romeo_and_Juliet_(Prokofiev)">Romeo and Juliet ballet</a>
  <br/>
  <a href="https://learnrussian.rt.com/speak-russian/tender-words-russian">zvyozdochka </a>
</p></blockquote></div></div>
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